When, after the slow ebbing of what really was a very brief passage of time, but what seemed to Wolf something more than time and different from time, they stood together again outside the hut, there came over him a vague feeling, as if he had actually invaded and possessed something of the virginal aloofness of the now darkened fields.

With his hand over Gerda’s shoulder he drank up a great mystery from those cool, wide spaces. His fingers clutched the soft collar of the girl’s cloak. He was conscious of her breathing⁠—so steady, so gently, and yet so living ⁠—like the breath of a warm, soft animal in the velvet darkness. He was conscious of her personality as something quivering and quick, and yet as something solitary, unapproachable.

Suddenly she broke the silence.

“Do you want me to whistle for you?” she asked, in a low, docile voice.